


Heaven Only Knows

by attackonbullshit



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Depression, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Drama, Flashbacks, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Guilt, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reunions, Romance, Slow Build, Slow Burn, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-19
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-13 19:43:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3393962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/attackonbullshit/pseuds/attackonbullshit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>War is hell, and Jean and Marco have seen the worst of it. Marco has been a victim of a car bombing and suffered the experience of being a prisoner of war. Jean survived the war without major physical injury, but has had an awful time getting over Marco's disappearance. Dear friends can only do so much to help him get through adjusting back into civilian life. Jean was pretty sure that the future was bleak. That was until the man he thought he'd be forced to live without shows up at his door, near a year after his disappearance.<br/>To have Marco back in his life is a blessing that he couldn't have prayed for, but it isn't all easy. Domestic life has it's on beasts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the Prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean and Armin have been leaning on each other for emotional support ever since they’ve returned home from overseas, but it has been visible to everyone that Jean is faring much worse than Armin is. Nothing changes for months after coming home, not until Armin answers the door to a very surprising visitor.

Armins gentle feet softly tapped against the wood floor, heading out of the cavernous room. The door had rang just a few seconds ago and Jean didn’t seem as though he was going to anything about. It wasn’t his house, but Armin had grown so accustomed to doing these daily social interactions on Jean’s behalf. Jean stood under his ill lit skylight as he brushed his hand across the cover of the book he was examining. Jean’s sigh was soft and only slightly annoyed, “it would be nicer if the sun would come out.” “It will come out later,” Armin reassured him as floated down the hall.  
Jean didn’t think anything of it. Armin was a good friend who was always around, hell he practically lived there now. So, it wouldn’t seem that weird to whoever would be at the door to be met by him. Jean had decided that he was going to finally read the book he had just been fumbling with when he heard the front door unlock and swing open. He was turning to sit in his chair, reaching for the stereo’s remote and . . .  
“JEAN!”  
That absolutely shrill scream pierced deep into the back of Jean’s mind. It was just a scream, but that scream, with all of it’s violent urgency, was enough to thrust him over the edge. A plethora of pent up emotion and struggle came crushing down. It had been near a year since he had returned home without Marco, and there wasn’t a day he didn’t struggle with the horrors of it. However, Armin could attest that up until this moment the past couple weeks had been a little easier. He was actually leaving the house, and he hadn’t been drinking quite as much, and he was sleeping better, not enough, but better. But the panicked screech that came from the front of the house drowned him back into every nightmare he had been trying to escape.  
He tried to collect himself, concentrating on what was happening right then. But instead he dove deeper within himself, only capable of assuming the worst imaginable situation, losing Armin. Jean wasn’t very good at seeing things simply. Since being overseas, he was very pessimistic and always jumped to the most radical conclusion imaginable. Armin was all he had now, with both of them suffering the loss of the one they loved, he was the only one Jean could connect to. Annie had gone missing in action only weeks after Marco had, and just like Jean, Armin, and Marco she was less than a month from shipping home.  
Right now Jean was standing in the small den connected by a short hallway to the kitchen, facing the bookshelf the book in his hands had come from. As he was trying to bring himself back from the crushing darkness of his own thoughts he concentrated on the smoothness of the cover of the book in his hands. “Do something,” Jean repeated back to himself, “just go see what. . .”  
“Jean, come quick! Jean!” the urgency in Armin’s voice pierced through the wall of crippling thoughts towering around Jean’s mind. “He just went to answer the door,” he muttered. Armed with this thought he stepped forward. His book dropped from his hands, he clenched his fist, grit his teeth and rushed another step. Quickly he gained speed and he was running. He ran through his kitchen to the edge of the living room, where he got his first chance to see the front door and the large figure standing behind Armin on the other side of it. He was instantly paralyzed, with his jaw dropping and hanging open slightly.  
Tears streamed down his pale face, and he was completely silent. All the emotion bound up painfully in the pit of his stomach and held him still, as if it were a block of cement. It was almost as if everything had completely stopped. Nothing moved. The only other time this had ever happened to him he was being giving the news that Marco was MIA. Just as before, his mind went blank and he was no longer aware of anything. Every emotion was flooding in and there was nothing to save him from drowning in it.  
“J-jean…,” whispered Armin, who stood in absolute fear of Jean’s current state.  
“Marco!,” with a loud, almost incomprehensible cry Jean broke. He tried to run forward but in his state it was more like a fall forward into the short living room ahead of him. He stumbled until he was grasped tightly by a war battered and scarred Marco. Armin had thrown his slender arms out towards him and Marco had jumped forward. Marco held on to Jean with so much intensity and strength that it should have been painful, but the shuddering, shaking, sobbing body lying in his arms didn’t show any discomfort. Those shaking arms flew around Marco’s chest, around his back and gripped him even tighter, and held him even closer. Jean was crying just as hard as he did when he first really came to understand that Marco had passed. His fists were balled up in Marco’s light, striped shirt and his faced buried as deep as he could manage into his chest.  
Marco was shocked. He didn’t really know what to expect, but somehow he was sure it wasn’t this. When he had inquired of Jean’s current location and set a plan to go to his home all he knew is that he wanted to see Jean, but as he stood there staring down on the two-toned blonde he realized that no matter what could’ve happened he would’ve never been prepared. After having been missing for so long, with the injuries he had suffered, he should’ve been dead. That would be a safe assumption and he knew that was what Jean and the others had assumed, but now he finally realized exactly what that meant for Jean.  
All this time Jean had thought he was gone forever. All this time Jean was being crushed down by a mountain of sorrow and even greater guilt. And all of a sudden in one moment that was all over. In this moment, wrapped in Marco’s arms, Jean let open the stressed and barely standing flood gates constructed of alcoholism and aggression, letting escape every emotion that grew from the moment Marco was hit in that explosion on.  
Marco was still in awe of the situation with no idea of how much time had passed. In fact to only one who did know was Armin, who was still standing beside the door that had been open this whole time. Moving seemed as though it would break the very frail potential for happiness for either of the men leaning heavily on each other in the middle of Jean’s living room. So he didn’t.  
Slowly coming to grips with the situation, in hopes of making the best of it, Marco starting to contemplate why this was happening. Sure he loved Jean and maybe Jean loved him too, a hope he had since the first time he caught glimpse of the bright-eyed confident young man, but even still his fit didn’t make sense. Crying in this moment of reunion made enough sense if it were joyous or out of relief, but that didn’t at all seem the case. Jean’s fit was just that, it wasn’t just crying, it seemed to be heavily coated in guilt. Now Marco knew he was clueless. Jean couldn’t be guilty. Looking down on the still shaking and sobbing Jean, Marco tried to say something to change the direction of this meeting. In a tender whisper Marco leaned close, “Jean…”.  
“I-I-I…,” was all that could stagger out of Jean. Marco didn’t have any clue what he could be trying to say, but knew it was of great weight. It possibly an explanation for Jean’s outburst. So Marco gently squeezed him closer. With Jean clenching on to him even tighter, if that were even possible, and throwing his head up on Marco’s shoulder he shouted out, “‘m so sorry!” And that was it. That was the answer that Marco was in need of. That was the thing that reassured Armin of his long standing assumptions. And, that was what broke the awful, crippling tension suffocating the room. To everyone but himself, Jean was free of any reason to feel guilt. Yet that was the biggest, most crushing feeling he had been suffering all this time.  
With these words the tension was gone and the room felt as though it had been emptied of the stress that had tortured everyone inside, and Armin could now shut the door on it. Upon closing the front door he turned back around into the room and saw that it was now Marco that was immobile. His eye, not covered by a black eye-patch, was open wider than could be believable and he was perfectly frozen. Jean was guilty, at least he felt that way, and Marco understood it now. Marco’s eye patched right eye and scared arm meant little to him, but to Jean that meant his own failure. As awful as it was to have gone through daily life believing those injuries would have been enough to end Marco’s life and therefore equated his disappearance to death. It was nowhere as bad as knowing that Marco lived and he did nothing to get him back. Marco had lived, suffered horrendous injuries (presumably poorly to untreated), undergone god knows what torture, and Jean didn’t save him. As he felt the warped, scarred, skin of Marco’s right arm against his own he could do nothing but imagine all of the hell that Marco went through and, as he felt, he could’ve stopped. Marco now understood this and it completely broke him, all that he had undergone as a prisoner of war was near the realm of comparable to exactly what he was feeling right then.  
As Armin found himself tiptoeing towards the two men he understood it too. He had been assuming there was much more that grief fueling Jean’s attitude adjustment for the worse, and just like he had expected, it was guilt. But after three short strides forward Armin stopped with his eyes hazily staring down at the wooden floor and his pale feet. He was suddenly scared for Jean. If he was guilty before he couldn’t imagine how he felt now. Armin had been struggling to help Jean deal with is emotions up until now, practically making no headway, so what was he going to do now.  
A movement out in front of the blonde caught his eye, and his head snapped up, his light blonde hair bouncing around his fair face. Marco was smoothly descending down onto his knees, still holding Jean, who was still sobbing but much more quietly. Marco’s left hand cradled Jean’s head that was still digging straight down into his right shoulder. He was still wide-eyed and near the edge of collapse but Jean was calmer with both eyes hanging more lightly closed then forcibly held shut.  
Once his knees had finally made contact with the ground, with both of their weights balancing up on them, Jean snapped back on his own. Gentle tears glided down his drying face and he just stared back at Marco. Marco was much paler than the last time Jean looked upon his face, but his freckles were still clearly visible which lit a bit of spark up inside of him. His hair was a little longer on top, and clearly just freshly cut, and his brown eye gleamed that familiar light that used to reassure Jean that there was in fact hope and a reason to be anything that was good. Then there was the eye patch. It covered where should’ve been his right eye, and not to far down his neck there was pale but definite scarring that tucked under his shirt and reappeared out of the bottom of his sleeve. That spark was gone and he was fixated on the exposed skin of the damaged arm.  
Jean’s eyes felt as though they were burning right through Marco’s skin. Armin had been feeling as though he should step out but now he was to nervous to move. Marco’s injuries were just so visible, and all Jean was doing was staring at them completely silent. After everyone remained completely still, for far too long to be comfortable, Marco shifted slightly. Armin found himself completely concerned that Jean’s actions were going to offend Marco, which was definitely not going to turn this thing around.  
“Ha. . .,” Marco’s giggled completely sincere and a tear streamed from his exposed eye. “It’s pretty bad isn’t it? . . . I’ve been debating covering ‘em up with tattoos or something.” Jeans eyes shot up to the warm smile on Marco’s face. His guilt was immense and it was going to take him an eternity to get over what no one else blamed him for, but that smile was just too good to see. Marco’s smile seemed warmer than the sun now shining brightly into the house, and it was a sensation that Jean could never express enough gratitude for. He was taken back to a time way before that mission. To a time when he would spend all day exerting himself to his limits just to get back to the barracks and see that smile, and that was all that mattered. The tension weighing down on his brows drained away, his face lightened, and he smiled for the first time Armin had seen since the last time they all sat together on base.  
“Yeah. You could do something pretty badass on there,” Jean gestured. And that was it. While still there, Jean was too caught up in the man he loved too much to live without, to fixate on his own self-loathing. Years from now Marco would finally break through to him and make him understand that no one was upset and he shouldn’t be either, but for right now this was enough. Marco was alive! Jean wouldn’t have to go another day dreading the uncertainty in how he lost Marco, and Marco could spend everyday for the rest of his life in the presence of the only person who could be credited with giving him the strength to survive his imprisonment. Marco had gotten through everyday by holding on to the dream of seeing Jean again, and he was finally living that out.  
Marco had lunged forward, arms outwards, and was now draped across Jean. The smiles wiped across their faces were unforgettable and the joy that exuded from them filled the entire home. They giggled about nothing but each others company with their faces press up together. It was appropriate now, and Armin shuffled out of the room and into the kitchen. He grabbed a glass off the counter and opened the fridge for the orange juice. He reached past the cases of various beers Jean had grown to depend on and hoped this was the last time he would have to see them there. Gently closing the door of the fridge he looked down the hall and saw the two men still tangled together in the living room and looked back to the door of the fridge. There was just one picture there on the fridge. It was a little tattered from being carried around in Jean’s pocket, no matter how lovingly he cared for it all the while. Although it had been unspoken, he could see so much love and hope in Jean and Marco’s eyes in it. It was reflected in the look in his and Annie’s eyes too. Marco and Jean were standing side by side with Jean’s arm thrown up over Marco’s shoulders, and on the other side of the group stood Annie with her hand clasped proudly in Armin’s.  
With one blonde eyebrow propped up, he sipped from his glass and lowered it back down to stare at the fridge , “I guess there is hope then. . .”.


	2. (Not) the First Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco has just moved in with Jean, who is using his day off to show him around his hometown.

Jean jumped a little as he tugged up his bright red skinny jeans to rest under the hem of his Sex Pistols tee. He looked up into the large mirror covering the sliding closet door and examined the outfit. After a thorough glance he slid open the door and pulled out his new black, ¾ length sleeve jacket and pulled it on. Upon having it on he stepped back and slid the door closed again. He decided it was alright and shrugged it off. His hair even sat right without really trying today, which happened to be a rare occurrence. Waving his hand in front of his face to flick the front of his hair up he noticed that he hadn’t put his earrings in. So, he shuffled over to the dresser across from his bed, along the adjacent wall, and picked them from where the sat on top of it. Holding the other three little pieces of metal in his left hand, he put a stud in his lobe as he sat down on the edge of the bed. As he slid the two small hoops in the cartilage piercings he ran over his plans for the day.

Today he was going to go out with Marco and show him around the town. They were going to go to the record store on the otherside of town, and then go to Jean’s favorite restaurant while they were there. It had been about three weeks since Marco returned from overseas, and near a week since Marco moved into Jean’s place. Marco had planned on living at his parent’s for awhile, until he was on his feet, but Jean insisted he move in with him instead. As he slid the last little black stud into the single piercing on his left ear he turned his head and could see himself in the mirror again. As he pushed the backing on he began to question what he was doing, “am I trying too hard?” Jean just sat there staring back at himself, hands limply hanging from his arms.

“This isn’t a date. If this were a date I would try, but this isn’t a . . . No. This is NOT a date.”

Jean had been slowly kicking around the thought of being more than friends with Marco for a little while, but never really made it his focused. He just knew that he was so happy whenever they were together, and he loved seeing Marco everyday, living with him was going great. He hadn’t tried complicating things by labeling what was happening between them, yet he was wondering if he should.

“Are we friends?,” and, “Do I love him?!,” had rolled around in his head a couple times before.

“Well, either way I can’t do anything. We are living together and if it became anything else we could totally ruin everything.”

The thought of not being able to do anything either way kind of comforted Jean. He didn’t have to make a choice, and he could just live happily in Marco’s presence. He wasn’t anything, just a guy living with someone he didn’t want to be with out.

“Hey, Jean?” Marco called out from the bottom of the stairs. Jean popped his head up and looked at the closed door. “Jean,” Marco started again, “do want breakfast before we go?" A stupid grin grew across Jean’s face, and he stood up.

He sprung over to the door and swung it open, “uh, sure. . .”

“Cool,” Marco jumped in excitedly, “I kinda made it already.” His smile was very proud and he was blushing. Jean bounced through the door and down the stairs to stand next to Marco.

“I’m gonna go throw some clothes on, but breakfast is on the island,” Marco said as he places a foot on the first step and gestured Jean over to the kitchen with his eye, “I’ll be back down in a minute.” Then he bounded up the steps.

Jean kinda blushed, “he’s such a dork.” As he took the few strides into the kitchen he began pulling off his jacket. He glanced at the counter as he walked over to put his jacket on the back of his chair and chuckled. It was exactly what Jean expected. Jean is the kind of guy who is totally okay with shoveling down the same old cereal every single day for breakfast, but Marco made an entire meal. On the counter was the over stacked dish rack full of dishes Marco had just used to make breakfast. In front of the stools Jean and Marco usually sat in were plates topped with a carefully crafted french toast looking thing. Jean sat down completely flushed. He just kinda looked at it for awhile before he heard Marco leave his bedroom and go to the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind him. Jean’s grin broke open into a smile and he picked up the fork laid next to the plate. It was fantastic. Jean knew Marco could cook based on the various things Marco had made for dinner or the periodic lunch, but this was great.

Marco’s feet came running down the stairs with light thuds, “do you like it?,” we shouted as he went. He was in the doorway of the kitchen only a short pause after he had asked the question. His walk came to a sort of rolling stop in the doorway as he looked up at Jean. He smiled at the sight of Jean enjoying the breakfast.

“Is it good?,” he asked with a giant smile as he sat himself next to Jean, placing his denim jacket on the back of his stool.

“It’s great!,” Jean said between bites, “what is it?”

“Strawberry Cream Cheese French Toast.”

“It’s awesome,” Jean said enthusiastically, both men eating, “thanks!” Not much was said after that until both were done with their meals. There were just the sounds of silverware against ceramic plates.

After, about fifteen minutes Jean was finished and got up to put his plate in the sink. He ran the faucet and rinsed it over. Jean glanced at the bowls and measuring cups in the dish rack next to him and giggled, “you did a lot of work.”

“Oh no,” Marco said getting up from his spot at the island, “it wasn’t that bad.” Jean smirked because he knew he was lying.

“So, when do you want to go?,” Marco asked wrapping an arm around front of Jean to put his plate in the sink. Jean gave a soft giggle and picked up the new plate to rinse it while Marco began to put everything else away.

“Well, I don’t know. I'm definitely not going to be hungry for awhile, but I tend to take awhile to flick through records anyway. So we can go whenever I guess.” Jean paused in thought for a minute and turned around to Marco who was whipping off the granite surface of the island, his red flannel sleeves rolled up to the elbow. Jean stopped there for a second and just watched Marco clean. His freckled arms reaching across the length of the island, his shirt rising a little over his stomach as he leaned across to reach the far corners, his dark hair hanging forward over parts of his forehead. Marco had started talking while facing down at the counter, but Jean wasn’t listening. He just watched Marco’s lips smoothly move up and down as words spilled across the surface that Marco was so tentatively cleaning.

“. . . so what do you think?,” Jean only snapped back into things for that last bit of what he was saying. He had no idea what Marco had said and his heart sank for a moment. He tried to think of something appropriate to say that wouldn’t show Marco how little attention he had been paying. Between the pause and the deep concentration on Jean’s face Marco had figured out that he wasn’t getting an answer. He chuckled and threw the towels he’d used into the garbage, “I don’t know either, man. One of us is going to have to make a decision.”

Jean blushed with relief and a little embarrassment, “Well let’s go to the record store. We can take all the time we want there then.” Marco giggled, Jean had jokingly told him how long he can take fubbling over records, but based on how long it takes him to pick a book out of his private, limited library he knew it was probably true.

“Okay then,” Marco said with a goofy smile as he picked up his jacket and reached over to Jean’s keys in the bowl next to the fridge. Marco went to playfully toss them at Jean but remembered his aim has been off now that he only has his left eye. “Here,” he said turning to take careful aim, sticking his tongue out slightly over his lower lip, “catch.” Jean laughed when he caught them, pulling the ring of keys into his abdomen, “let’s go.”

Jean dropped his keys on the island and slid his black jacket on as Marco went around the corner to put on his shoes. Jean then slid his keys across the counter, dragging them along side him as he walked over to join Marco. With both of their shoes on they took long strides out the front door and climbed into his ‘65 chevy impala.

\------

The drive over to the record store had been just the two men sing (more like yelling) along with this old mix tape Jean had had in the car since his senior of college. They were absolutely blasting the tape that was comprised of any emo, punk, pop-punk, alternative, grunge, indie or garageband from the 90s up through 2010. Marco was pleasantly surprised to discover how similar their taste in music was.

By the time they got to the store they were laughing with raspy tired voices. Jean pulled into the closest spot to the door, and the deep rumble of the old engine came to a stop as he pulled the key out of the ignition. He plopped down his hand holding the key ring into his lap and he flashed a soft faced look over at Marco. The two didn’t stare at each other really, they just looked at each other as if to truly observing the person next to them. The tender moment was broken by Jean’s eager smile leading along his words, “come on, let’s go.”

Jean had practically jumped out of the car and Marco mirrored his excitement. Jean slid between the front of the car and wall in front of it, placing himself beside the Marco. Without words he flipped his head over to the left and signaled them to walk that way, and they strolled through the front door.

Instantly a rush of fragrances and warm color tones swept over them. It was incredible. It was a smallish little shop full of warm browns, yellows, and reds. And the smells were dramatic, rich and completely overwhelming. Marco was completely taken back by the foreign scene, it was absolutely wonderful. Jean’s face lite up, he never got tired of coming through those doors.

It hadn’t been two seconds, yet it felt like hours, just standing in front of the door taking in the room. There was a large glass case that stretched from the door to the back wall and it help pipes of every color, material and design imaginable. Across from that was a large stand covered in vast amounts of plastic dividers each holding different scented incense sticks. Close by was a row of candles. Closer to them and the door was three rows of collectables and novelties, running parallel to the incense and candles. Those rows then faded into a jewelry counter that was surrounded by shelves and rows of purses, hats, dresses, tops, and t-shirts. Behind that is a half wall that is covered in various quirky tech and gadgets. Then, behind that was the treasure trove, all of the records and CDs both new and used.

Jean smiled and sprung towards the right, heading towards the records. Marco started to follow but he was too excited to keep up. Before either of them knew it Jean was flipping through record and Marco was caught up in all of the neat thing surrounding him in the front of the store. The two shopped separately for near two hours before they reunited in the record section.

Marco came up to Jean who was still flipping through the records. Jean still was wearing that eager grin and he had a whole stack of records and CDs next to him. He would flick through a section, top to bottom, and then move the stack over to do it again with the next group. Marco stood next to him holding the brown bag containing whatever he had just purchased, smiling at how eager and honestly adorable Jean was. Jean didn’t stop to look up until he had finished going through the row he was on, but when he finally did he just giggled and leaned forward on the shelf grinning up at Marco.

“So, did you have fun?”

Marco’s face flushed red, “Yeah. It was just like you said.”

Jean chuckled, “Well, I’m sorry that I’ve been taking so long.”

“No, don’t be,” his smile was big and full of joy for Jean’s completely sincere happiness, “it’s been awhile since you’ve been here . . . there is just so much music to go through.”

“Yeah,” Jean said with a sigh as he stretched and stood up straight, “the last time I was here was before I got sent overseas.”

“Why didn’t you come here when you came back?”

“It didn’t feel right,” Jean shrugged. He turned to his stack of albums and scooped them up, “I think I’m ready to check out.”

Marco's smile had softened realizing that this meant a lot the Jean. Somehow Jean couldn’t come back here in the state was in prior to Marco's return, but now that Marco was in his life again he could again.

“Ready to go?,” Jean’s smile was so cheesy that it almost seemed as to sparkle as he peered over top of his bag of records and CDs.

“Uh, yeah,” Marco shuffled off behind Jean out the door.

When they got to the car Jean threw all of his music behind him and snapped his seatbelt on and a single motion. He flung his hands on the wheel and he threw it in reverse. Jean drove a little hastily down the street. It was obvious to Marco how happy Jean was right now. Marco sat in the passenger seat, his bag in his hands, watching Jean drive with his left arm propped up on the door. The music was blaring and Jean just looked so cool. He had at some point popped up his collar, his shoulders were exaggerated by the jacket, his right arm was aimed straight out gripping the top of the steering wheel, and his eyes were focused, pointed straight ahead on the road. Jean could’ve been pulled right out of a movie.

“Yeah!,” Jean whooped, breaking away from his barely audible humming with the radio, just before making the left turn into the restaurant's lot. He parked the glossed black impala and flipped his gaze to the freckled man in the passenger seat. His smile was bright and intense, “you ready for the best damn vietnamese you’ll ever eat?”

“S-sure.”

“Alright!,” and Jean kicked his lean legs out of the door and peeled out.

“Have you been here since coming home?,” Marco inquired as he followed behind Jean.

“Nawh. The last time I was here I was with my parents the night before I left.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. . . Oh man, you’re gonna love it.”

Jean swung the door open holding it as he walked forward so Marco could follow before swinging open the next one. Once again Marco’s senses were plunged into a strange euphoria. It was a tiny little restaurant completely colored with white, red, and brown, lit by warm yellow light, and the smell was awesome. A petite waitress showed them to a booth. Jean was still as excited as he was on the drive over, bouncing his leg up and down against the floor as he went through the menu.

“Okay. So this is how they do this.” Marco looked up to see that Jean had flopped his menu down and was looking right back at him.

“They serve family style here, and the food is crazy. Like they bring everything out on a huge plate and give you whatever rice you want in a large bowl with it.”

“Okay,” Marco giggled, still a little confused.

“Do you know what you want?”

“I have no idea.”

The waitress was coming back and Jean looked at Marco with a smirk, “here, I got this.”

When the waitress reached their booth Jean ordered two meals and two beverages, that Marco assumed was a type of tea, with the typical charm Marco had grown to know while they were stationed together.  After the waitress left Marco just sat there looking at Jean ready to spring some sort of question.

“I’ve known her a long time,” Jean said, “my mom used to bring me here a lot when I was growing up.”

“Yeah?”

“My mom and dad came here together before they had me actually.”

“That’s quite a tradition.”

Jean laughed it out off, “yeah, well they make damn good food.”

“So, Jean?”

“Yeah?”

“I thought you said they serve family style.”

“Yeah.”

“And that it’s a lot.”

“Yep.”

“Jean, you ordered two meals.”

Jean blushed a little, “look trust me, you have to have both.”

“Okay,” Marco giggled. After pausing to relax his laugh, “So what else did you do around here?”

Jean brightened with excitement, “Well first of all I used to come here a lot. I’d come here everytime I would buy records, but I’d also come over after a game or performance, or for birthdays or dates, stuff like that.”

“Game or performance? What did you play?”

“In high school I played football, but as soon as the season was over I would go over to the theatre department.”

“You were in theatre?”

“Yeah. I was playing lead roles in sophomore year and that was always reserved for seniors, for obvious reasons.”

“What shows did you guys do?”

“Uh . . . Guys and Doll, Much Ado about Nothing, Grease, Alice in Wonderland, Beauty and the Beast . . . and I did Rent at the local community theatre.”

“Wow, you were leads in all of those?”

“Yeah, I. . .,” Jean was cut off by the waitress bring their food. Marco was surprised at what was laid out in front of them. Jean wasn’t kidding, there was a lot and it looked incredible.

“Go nuts,” Jean ushered Marco with his fork as soon as the waitress left. Marco followed Jean in taking from the plates. “It’s lemon chicken and beef and potatoes,” Jean rushed before digging into the pile on his plate. Marco slowly went for his first bite taking in the smells and unbelievable colors of the food. In the first bite he was amazed, he had never had vietnamese to start with, but this was also exceptionally good on top of that.

“Great right?," Jean asked. Marco just nodded and kept eating.

The two men just continued eating in silence, enjoying the food and good company. It wasn’t until they both had overeaten and the food was gone that they said anything again.

“Damn,” Jean giggled, “still kicks ass.”

“That was great!”

“You hadn’t had vietnamese food before either had you?”

“No, this was a new one for me.”

“Well, like I told you, this is the absolute best.”

“Oh thank you Diu,” Jean grinned as the waitress set down the bill. He took it and got up for the counter near the door. “You ready to go?,” he said looking back at Marco.

“Yeah,” Marco said getting up from the table. He turned back and dropped a tip on the table and glided over to the door. By the time he had caught up Jean had paid the bill, and was leading Marco out the door.

Once the two had managed to get back to the car and were ready to go Jean busted up laughing with head laying back on the seat.

“What?”

“Oh nothing,” Jean reassured him, “I’m just stuffed. Between that killer breakfast you made and that I’m whipped.”

Marco started laughing, “yeah me too.”

“Ugh. . . I'm ready for a nap.”

“Yeah . . . and you have to work tomorrow morning don’t you?”

“Yeah,” he sighed while turning the ignition. The engine roared and Jean turned the radio’s volume knob up. And the rhythm and deep pounding riffs of the White Stripes started to flow through the car. Both content men sat back without words and enjoyed the ride for about ten minutes.

In the quiet Marco had sat observing the inside of Jean’s car. Jean had gotten it from an uncle when he was in his junior year of highschool. And it has collected all of Jean’s personality. It was clean but it definitely had character, little things here and there, i.e. a light scratch on the hood where he tried to slide across it on a dumb, drunken teenage night, or the breaking box of mix tapes sitting on the floor. Marco was in love. Reminded by that box of tapes, Marco reached for the bag of records in the back seat. When he grabbed it he noticed a little bit plastic sticking out of the seats. Curiously he pulled at it, dragging it into the front seat.

“What did you find?,” Jean asked peeking at it out of the side of his eye.

Marco just laughed.

“What is it?," Jean inquired.

“It’s a bag of balloons.”

Jean blushed and grinned, god only knows how long those have been there. Marco just continued his giggling and ripped the bag open. Jean kept his focus on the road despite being intrigued by Marco’s playfulness next to him. They weren’t far from home and he could hear Marco inflating balloons next to him. When he reached the driveway he couldn’t resist anymore and was absolutely blushed and laughing. He pulled up, parked, unbuckled, and turned to the passenger seat. He wasn’t disappointed by his expectation of the what he would see. Marco was covered in pastel colored balloons and grinning like a child. Jean’s heart jumped into his throat, the sight was just too precious. Marco delicately grabbed one of his balloons and slowly handed it over to him, “what a balloon?”

Jean couldn’t handle it anymore, it was so cute and he was laughing with tears in his eyes. Marco really began to blush now. “Sure,” Jean said slowly taking it from him, “Let’s go you dork.”

Marco turned and opened the door and the balloons fell out. Jean jumped out and watched them take off into the air.

“There they go,” Marco said standing up from his seat in the car.

“Yep.”

Jean then opened the back seat and pulled out his bag of purchases. He flipped his hair back, pulling out of the car and clung to his bag. He watched the balloons drift out of sight, and smiled. He swung his hand towards the door holding his keys, “let’s get inside, Marco.”


	3. Jean's Birthday Surprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Jean's birthday and he's had to work a full shift. He just wants to come home and sleep off the whole crappy experience, but all of his friends have a surprise waiting for him at home.

“God, I’m so ready to go home,” Jean huffs to himself as he approaches the nurses’ desk. He’d been working, what seemed to be the longest shift ever, and he was 20 minutes from punching out. He loved helping people and therefore couldn’t hate his job as a whole, but today couldn’t end soon enough. Some of the other nurses were way more concerned with whatever drama was going around for Jean’s liking. Plus, the schedules for the next month had just been released and Jean really got screwed over, but he didn’t even have the time to talk about that because of the abnormal number of people being rushed in today. This all would suck enough on any day, but today seemed especially worse being that it was Jean’s birthday. Jean had spent the last three birthdays selflessly overworking himself to benefit others. This time he was thinking that it might be nice to enjoy his birthday, but it just didn’t happen. He had just started this week and he couldn’t afford to be picky over shifts. He dropped his tired arms down on the counter of the nurses’ desk and just rested there for a second.

“Kirschstein, you need to take this one,” rang above his drooping head as a chart dropped in front of him. Jean popped up immediately.

“Lilly is taking off pretty soon so she can’t start this.” Jean was sick, he worked his ass off to cover for Lilly and few others the whole day and now that the shift is changing he’ll also get stuck staying later because of her.

“With all due respect ma’am I’m leaving at the same time Lilly is. I can’t start this case either.”

“Everyone else is full. You’re taking this.”

Jean was angry, and he gripped the counter top in his fists, “Alright, I got it,” he said through a sarcastic smile. She walked away with that and he took the clipboard off of the desk.

“Jean, I need you in here!,” came roaring from the room adjacent from to the desk. Jean dropped the clipboard and ran over. When he reached the room he found himself standing at the bed of a violent middle-aged man throwing around a petiet nurse and doctor, who were trying to keep him in the bed. Jean whipped his head towards the door and yelled for restraints to be brought in and ran to the nurse’s side. Throwing his hands up next to hers he managed to muscle down the man on that side until the restraints got there. When they arrived in the hands of a skinny armed boy that looked like he just stumbled out of college, he gripped them in one hand and continued to restrain the man while the doctor got him tied down.

“What the hell?,” Jean inquired stepping back from the bed.

“He is one of our regulars here. He’s comes in like this near every three weeks.”

"Drugs?"

"Yeah."

Jean didn’t even know what to say about it, it was just an unfortunate situation. “We’ll,” Jean said, “if you’ve got this I’m going to go back to the bed I was assigned.” On his way out the door he peeked at the clock hanging across from the desk. “Shit,” it was ten minutes before his shift was over. He quickly grabbed the chart and read it over as quickly as he could. He had to collect this guys blood for tests. He sighed disappointed that he had to deal with it, but was moderately relieved that it wouldn't take that long. He rushed over to the storage room, got what he needed, and flew down the hall to the room. The patient was about his age and looked pale. Jean bore his smile of reassurance and tried to express some relaxation in order to keep the patient calm.

“Alright, this is gonna be quick. I promise.” Keeping that smile he performed the quickest blood draw ever done. He made the appropriate disposals and labels, and was packed up and gone. He was five minutes late to punch out when he got out of there. His strides down the hall were quick and long in hopes of getting out as soon as possible before getting roped into something else.

“Jean.”

"Shit not again," was all Jean could think as a small voice rang out behind him. Reluctantly he turned around to answer the call. It was the nurse he had helped in restraining that man just a bit ago.

“Jean, you are still here? I thought you were done five minutes ago.”

“Well I should’ve been, but someone needed to take blood from the patient in 310."

“You have to run it to the lab?”

“Yeah.”

“Give it to me,” she interjected flinging her arm out in front of herself.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Consider it a thank you for earlier."

“You don’t have to thank me. This is our job.”

“Come on, just give it to me,” she said smiling, “you’re almost ten minutes late now.”

“Ok,” he said handing everything over, “thank you so much.”

“Don’t mention it. Go home. Oh, and happy birthday.”

“Uh, thanks,” Jean said, almost confused, right before jogging down the hall to the staff room.

He punched out as soon as he entered the door. He then grabbed his denim jacket, backpack, and keys out of his locker and practically sprinted out the door. He didn’t slow down or stop until he was seated in his impala. “God,” he mutter laying his arms and head down on the steering wheel. The two-toned blonde didn’t move for a few seconds, but then slowly pulled the door shut and buckled up before starting up the car. It was 5:25 by now and he was starving and tired. Inhaling some food and crawling into bed was all he really felt like doing at this point. In fact that sounded fantastic. So he peeled out of his spot.

The drive home couldn’t have gone faster. He was speeding the whole way, and he didn’t even take the time to turn the radio on. Getting home was all he really cared about.

The car jolted when he stopped in front of the garage. Jumping out of the car and pulling the key out of the ignition seemed to happen at exactly the same time. He reached behind him into the passenger seat dragging his bag out before slamming the door shut. He sighed in relief and gently locked the car. His right arm glided through the space between the bag and the strap as he strolled across the sidewalk to his front door. Pushing his key through the slot was the most excited he felt all day. The door lightly brushed across the rug and he entered. Just as he looked up to see if Marco was around he felt movement flow through the room and there was a loud cry, “SURPRISE!”

Jean had actually jumped at the sound. In no way was he expecting a surprise. Everyone was smiling and flooding him with birthday wishes. Now flustered and tired Jean just stood there wide eyed taking in all of the action happening around him. Sasha and Connie were there, and so was Armin. They stood together with Marco in the center of the crowd circled around the front door. Those four were definitely the most excited, which Jean assumed was probably because they put this together. They were his very closest friends. All of the other people seemed to be a compilation of Jean’s relatives, including his mother, and old friends, some he hadn’t seen since college or even high school.

“Happy birthday, Jean,” Sasha gently said going in for a hug, “were you surprised?”

“Yeah,” Jean said containing a laugh as he hugged her back, “You guys got me.”

“Good!,” jumped in Connie, “keeping it a secret was hell.”

“Thanks, Connie,” Jean said breaking away from Sasha and patting him on the back.

“Happy birthday, Jean!,” Armin exclaimed bouncing up to him with a bright smile.

“Thanks, man,” and Jean took him into a hug.

“Oh. Happy birthday, Jeanie Boy,” came from his his mother with out stretched arms, which he received.

“Thanks, mom.” Jean was definitely blushed now. All of his friends had shown up to wish him happy birthday, which would’ve been enough, but his mom was there only adding to his embarrassment.

“How was your day?” Jean spun around to see who it was, and of course it was Marco.

“A lot better now.” Marco just smiled at the response, he was obviously involved and was happy to hear that his work was appreciated.  
By that time the rest of the crowd had dispersed, and greetings carried on in this way for a little while. Mainly just closer friends from college and two guys he used to play football with in high school. It was a sizable crowd that had been gathered, enough to make Jean wonder how they all had been collected. Anyway it was nice and Jean had totally forgotten how tired he had felt. He was still hungry though, which was good considering how much work had been put into preparing food and decorations for tonight.

“Sash?”

“Yeah?,” Sasha responded back to Jean, turning her attention from Connie. The three were seated in his living room, Jean on the end of the couch next the large armchair Sash and Connie were sharing.

“How did you guys get all this together?”

“You mean like all the people or what?”

“Yeah. Everyone is here how did you even know who all to invite?”

“Jean, we were a thing in high school. I knew all of your friends and you knew all of mine.”

“A thing?,” Connie interjected, leaning forward and displacing Sasha’s legs, which had been laying across his lap.

“Connie, were talked about this.”

“Yeah, man, it wasn’t a big deal. We kinda dated a few times but we realized that we had just been friends since we were kids and that’s all we really were to each other. You know? Like siblings. We were like siblings to each other.”

“Yeah. Like there was one or two ‘dates’ and it wasn’t a big deal. We were just really good friends.” Connie hadn’t really been upset to begin with so he was pretty content with that answer and laid back in the chair.

“Any way,” Connie started, throwing an arm around his girlfriend, “she gathered a list based on what she remembered and what she found on Facebook. Armin and your mom picked out everyone else.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, Marco was busy as hell trying to get all of the other work done without you finding out.”

Jean’s blushing set in again and it was way too obvious for his own comfort, “Marco?”

“Yeah, Marco really was in charge of the whole thing,” Connie mumbled adjusting his position under Sasha.

“So what’s the deal with you two anyway?,” Sasha quickly jumped in.

Jean was really uncomfortable now. He wasn’t just red, but he was hot and squirmed a little bit, “Well he is living here. He needed a place and I figured that this was a better alternative to having to live with his parents."

“So did he move in right away?”

“Well not right away. It was like a week after he came to see me.”

“He came to see you. About that. . .,”

“Sasha!,” Connie chimed in, coming to Jean's rescue. 

“What?”

“I don’t know if Jean wants to tell you . . .”

“It’s okay,” Jean was kinda flustered and determined to show he has nothing to prove, “it’s really not a big deal. It was cool. Marco came by to see me a few days after he got back in the states.”

“Did you know he was back before he got here?”

“Nope. He just showed up.” Sasha left it there. She knew Jean more than well enough to know to just drop it. Besides it wasn’t like she didn’t know what happened, Armin had spilled the beans immediately after the event. It was just that she was curious how Jean was handling it, and more importantly his feeling towards Marco now.

At this moment Marco was coming out of the kitchen and handing Connie a beer.

“Alright, about time.”

“Hey, I said I’d get it, not that I’d go get it right at that moment,” laughed Marco taking a seat on the floor between the armchair and the coffee table.  
“You guys having fun?” It was a general question, but everyone could tell that it was more aimed at the birthday boy. The pause waiting for Jean to respond was unbearable for everyone.

“Yeah,” Connie offered.

“Uh, yeah! This is just great Marco,” Jean managed to get out with little falter, coming down from his embarrassment. Marco just smiled back at him, with nothing really to say. That was fine, Jean wasn’t really up for talking and just having him there, amongst everyone else who's been a part of his life, meant the world to him. While comfortable for the two of them, others were starting to notice their exchanged gazes. Looking for an out for them, in hopes of saving Jean from embarrassment, Sasha cleared her throat to start a new conversation.

“Marco! Come help me with this,” rang out from the kitchen.

“Oh!,” Marco jumped up, “I’ll be right back. Jean, stay there.”

As Marco strolled off to answer the call Sasha climbed out of the chair and started clearing the red plastic cups off of the coffee table in front of them.

“Here let me help you.”

“Nope, you just sit right there.”

“Psh, I can help.”

“It’s your birthday party, just sit there and enjoy it.”

Jean shot a look over at Connie, who was watching her shuffle the cups to one side of the table. The look Connie then returned to Jean was funny to Jean, he assured Jean that Sasha really didn’t want their help. Once she had finished clearing a large blank space in front of Jean she bounced back into Connie’s lap. His smile was priceless as he scooped her up in his lap and wrapped his arms around her waist. He really did love her and the way they looked at each other was something that actors get paid gobs of money to pretend in any sappy romance. Jean just subtly watched them for a moment, but he really wasn’t thinking about them, hell he wasn’t even upset. He was thinking about Marco. Thinking about how he has so happy to have him here, how he enjoyed the time they spend together, or how he felt everytime he entered the room, or smiled, and how much he felt like this tension meant that they were supposed to be so much more to each other.

The cluster of thoughts clouding Jean’s brain were cut through by the increasing sound of clapping and hooting. Jean sat up looking for an explanation for all of the excitement, and the sight didn’t help his current ponderings. Marco was traveling over to him with a large cake, topped with 27 candles, lighting up his face. Jean’s eyes gleamed in the approaching light. Everything felt peaceful as he gazed into his roommate's eyes, and he held his breath as if even his breath would be enough to shatter this moment. When Marco set the cake down before him and the lights faded from him the moment didn’t end. The strange euphoria endured as Marco stood opposite him and the crowd cheered for him to blow out the candles. As he dipped his head down do he was still thinking about Marco: the way his brown eye glowed like a fire, and the way the yellow light bounced off of his freckled skin, which was touched here and there by the stray locks of black hair peeking over his face, and the way the corners of his lips curled into a prideful smirk on either side of his face.

“What did you wish for?,” inquired Armin who had been beside Marco the whole time.

“I-,” Jean started unsure of what the answer was, “I don’t know.” He smiled at his own answer and then at Marco.

“Well let’s have some cake!,” Sasha shouted jumping down by Jean, who wasn’t breaking his gaze from Marco. Marco smiled back and got down to his level to help Sasha distribute cake.

“This is gonna be so good,” Sasha nudged Jean, “Marco and Armin made it.”

“I hope you like it,” Armin said flashing him a grin and handing him a piece.

He did like it. The cake was good and so was the company. Everyone made good conversation and enjoyed seeing Jean and all the others who had returned home from combat. The night ended with just Marco, Armin, and Jean cleaning up with Jean’s record collection playing in the living room. There wasn’t much of a mess so within an hour everything was back to normal and Armin went home. Jean sat in the kitchen enjoying another slice of cake before shuffling off to bed when Marco came in. He sat himself across the island from Jean and crossed his arms in front of himself on the counter top.

“So, were you actually surprised?”

“Yeah, I actually had no idea. I thought I was just gonna come in and eat something, then shove off to bed.”

“Go to bed at six? You did have a rough day.”

“Yeah it definitely had it’s moments.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s alright. It was really nice to see everyone tonight. It almost makes up for the rest of the day.”

“Well, I’m glad for that then.”

Jean just chuckled and swallowed his last bite before shoving his plate in the sink. “I think I’m gonna go to bed now.”

“Okay.”

“Thanks again,” Jean reached out and patted the dark haired man on the shoulder before exiting.

On his way up the stairs he felt himself getting more tired with each step, and being more and more thankful that his shift started latter in the morning the next day. Upon landing on the top step he observed the jacket hanging from Marco’s door before sliding into his room. He trunged up to the bed and through himself down on it. Twisting his head so that he wouldn't be breathing in the sheets, he thought of the night again. His lips curled up into a silly grin before blushing. “He is such a dork,” mumbled from his grin before he closed his eyes for the deepest sleep he’d enjoyed since before Marco's disappearance.


	4. Another Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean and Marco both went to see their mother's over Mothers Day weekend. Marco hasn't gotten back yet, and the separation has allowed an old nightmare to creep back into Jean's mind.

Yellow tinted light flooded the room as Jean flicked the entrance light switch. He wasn’t sure what exactly the time was as he trudged into the house, but it was late. He was so tired from his exaughsting day at work he didn’t even look at the clock when he punched out. In fact he was so out of things that he was amazed he even could drive home, he didn’t even remember doing so. Kicking off his shoes by the door he noticed that Marco’s weren’t there, and therefore he still wasn’t home yet. It didn’t surprise him though. He knew that it would be late by the time Marco got home, but he had kinda hoped that he would be able to see him before turning in for the night. However, Marco wasn’t there and Jean didn't even know if he was gonna make it up to his bed before he crashed. So, he sluggishly forced himself up the stairs.

His bed never felt so comfortable. Too tired to care, he hadn’t even taken his scrubs off, he just dropped his backpack on the ground next him and flopped down on the bed. All the energy he could muster was exurted in pulling the blanket over himself. His hair poked in all directions around his pale face as he slowly gave into the sleep sweeping down over him. Gently his eye lids fell closed and he was sleeping, his mind slowly fading into a dream he hadn’t suffered in a long time.

“Jean,” Marco’s face was relaxed and collected, as it always was, “the site isn’t too far ahead.” Jeans feet scuffed the ground in light waves as he followed the tall young man.

“Any word from the other units?”

“They aren’t much farther from the cite than we …” Marco’s voice was cut off by the sound of another explosion. There were cries of victims falling to the second car bomb to go off in the area that day.

“Let’s go!”

“Jean, we don’t know what we are running into!,” screamed Marco as he shot off into a sprint along side Jean who was focused only on the rising smoke ahead of them.

“Come on! They sent us in to help these people.” They ran a few hundred yards before they saw anyone. Everyone seemed like dark figures until they were right up in front of the two men. The sounds surrounding them were overstimulating. People were screaming and crying amongst soldiers shouting orders and commands.

“J-jean,” was faintly trembling off of a distant soldiers lips. 

“Armin!,” Jean caught eye of the small fair haired man, shaking in his boots against the wall of the covered path they had rushed into.

“Armin, are you alright?”

“D-don’t,” the word struggled from his lips and he couldn’t force out anymore. Jean and Marco stopped to try and get anything out of him, but they couldn’t before another blast went off. It was far too close this time. Marco gripped the gun tighter, with ambition and started running again.

“Marco wait,” Jean screamed looking back at Armin whose face was drowning in tears. Jean couldn’t say anything to snap him out of it and Armin wasn’t going to move either. Jean gripped the small, dirtied soldier’s arm tight, “you have to move, Armin! Go with these people. Get them out of here!” As soon as he said it he was sprinting after Marco again. “Damnit Marco!” He was far enough behind, that he couldn’t be heard but he could see his comrade out front. It was obvious by just the density of the air that they were in the epicenter of the hell that had been unleashed on the masses of civilians and soldiers without distinction. The screams were deafening. Most of anyone who could move had gotten out by now, and everyone there was tp badly injured to do anything to get out.

“Marco! Hold on! Marco!,” Marco still couldn’t hear him through the chaos and something was wrong. There was debris everywhere and nothing immediately around them was a live. “Shit, Marco . . .,” that was all he muster before the castastrophic expolsion took impact. It seemed like a movie explosion. Everything slowed down and all he saw was his beloved comrade being ripped apart, engolfed in flame. The impact was the worst of it, Jean was close enough to be thrown, but not enough to be directly harmed by the pure energy of the blast. He hit the ground with a force that winded him enough to keep any normal man down, but right now he wasn’t an ordinary man. Upon openening eyes that he had forced shut, accepting the pain of the impact, he was forcing himself up on weakened arms.

“Marco,” at first Jeans pleas where small breathless whispers but they quickly escalated to frantic screams. His feet struck the ground with great force as he ran to the immobile man in front of him. As Jean plunged to the ground beside Marco’s body he was trying to make out what was really there. The once pale uniform was dark and soaking with blood, the body was piled up and still, completely still, he was way too still. Marco wasn’t breathing. Jean was uttering incomprehensible sounds and he flipped over the body.

“Marco,” Jean pleaded again, shaking the limp body with the rush of his voice. His plea did nothing. He screamed again, shaking Marco harder, and still nothing. He couldn’t bare it, and he began thrusting the body up and down through the air harder. He just had to make him wake up. Unaware of his actions now, Jean was beating Marco’s body against the ground. Jean couldn’t hear anything due the damage his ears suffered in the explosion, but if he had he would’ve noticed the faint sounds trembling out from Marco’s lips. Jean didn’t stop until he noticed movement in Marco’s face. Jean stopped dead and held his friend exactly still in his arms.  
Marco was breathing again, and he was alive, but the horror of his condition was finally setting in. Jean slowly laid Marco down on the ground, staring and the mutilated right side of his face. Moving his hand away he could feel a sliminess too Marco’s left arm, and he shot his eyes down to it. Marco’s entire right side was mutilated and bloody, exposing muscles and torn flesh everywhere. Tears streamed down Jean’s face as he ran his eyes up to his friends face. Marco was crying and shocked, barely trembling. Jean gently placed his hands on either side of his face, sobbing and shaking.

“Jean,” Jean couldn’t hear his friend’s cries but he could see them being mouthed. 

“Marco! M-marco! MARCO!,” the blood was running everywhere.

“Marco!," Marco's face was to horrific to be real.

"Marco!," Marco seemed to be slipping away, and he was becoming self-aware, hearing his own screams. 

"MARCO!" 

“Jean! Jean wake up!,” Jean’s eyes snapped open and he was flying up from the bed. Marco was sitting next to him on the bed. Jean was frantic and unable to understand what was happening, sweating, shaking, sobbing, and thrashing through the sheets.

“Hey, it’s okay,” hushed Marco as he leaned in to wrap his arms around him. Jean gripped an arm around his newly arrived friend and clung to him tightly.

“It’s okay, Jean. It’s over.”

Jean couldn’t even say anything, he just sobbed and pulled Marco closer.

“It’s okay, I’m home now.” Marco hushed repeatedly, cradling Jean.

It was dark outside, it was after 12:00 when Marco had pulled into the driveway and heard Jean’s screaming. God only knows how long it had been since he had bolted into the house and up the stairs to his position next to Jean. The moon was shining in brightly through the window onto the bed where Jean had finally calmed down and was falling asleep. Marco’s tender gaze floated over the pale man in his arms. Jean’s face was now calm and content, and his body laying down heavily against Marco’s. The peace now overcoming Jean was completely dependent on Marco, and Marco knew it. So, in hopes of getting some sleep before his shift in the morning Marco gently scooped Jean up and slid him up to the pillows laying him down next to himself. Jean squirmed as if to wake up, but stopped as soon as Marco tightened his arms around Jean, cuddling up next to him. Marco sighed a smile as he gazed and the serene face nuzzled up next to him. He hated that these things were still haunting Jean, but he was so glad to be back with him now. Nothing felt as special as this moment, holding Jean close to him with nothing else to preoccupy his mind but the man lying next to him.


	5. Will you be okay if I go?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's now morning and Marco has woken up in Jean's bed to find Jean still in his arms after the fit of panic he suffered earlier that night.

The room was glowing with sunlight when Marco finally opened his eyes again. His heart sank when he thought that he was late for his shift, but was relieved when he glanced at the alarm clock displaying that it was only 8:02. His lips curled up into a tired grin as he droped his eyes back down to see Jean still snuggling against him. Jean's grip on him was tight, but he still was much calmer than he was when Marco had got home just earlier. Marco couldn't help but smile as he gazed over him. After staring at him for quite some time he realized that he has drifted out and panicked over the time again, and quickly shifted his eyes back up to the clock again. It was 8:24. 

"Shit," he murmured, "I have to go." Yet he hesitated, and tried to think of a way he could prolong this moment. Unfortunately he just couldn't. Not unless he called into work, and that wasn't an option. 

He looked down and the peaceful face nuzzling into his chest and cringed with disappointment as he tried to slowly slide away. He was acting as tenderly as he could, trying not to wake Jean as he climbed out of the bed. Once out of his grip and off of the bed he smiled down on Jean. He had managed to not wake him and he continued to sleep heavily. Marco slowly turned to the door but then realized that Jean likely had to work today also. He trotted over the Jean's phone, flicked through to his calendar, and found is shift. It started at 1:00. So he flicked back to the phone's alarm clock and set it for 12:00, thinking it was the latest that Jean could get up and still make it to his shift. 

After gently laying the phone down Marco left the room. There was just enough time for him to shower and eat before he left. As he showered his mind began to wonder. He couldn't get over what had happened that evening. He's never seen anyone like act like that, and to see it happening to Jean was even worse. Jean had been fine as far as he knew, at least a hell of a lot better than he had been told he was in the past year. So why did this happen? Marco's heart broke as he stood under that steady rush of water overhead, he was realizing that Jean's good streak had been temporary. He felt his eyes welling up as it tore at him. Realizing his own "pathetic" state he sniffled and turned off the shower, but he couldn't help but dwell on it as he got out and dressed. 

Leaving the room he hoped that Jean was still catching some much needed sleep, however he was sure that he had heard traffic on the stairs as he had stepped out of the tub. Sure enough Jean wasn't in bed as Marco passed his room. He stopped and sighed outside the doorway. This was the first time Marco had ever seen Jean in such a mood. It was horrifying. His desire to help Jean was undeniable but he was hopelessly lost in this endeavor. 

The gentle rattling of a spoon swirling along the interior of a coffee mug floated up the stairs. Marco's heart jumped a little. Jean. Jean was down stairs and he was awake. As he bounded down the stairs he was relieved to know that Jean was enough like his usual self to preform his morning rituals. His pace slowed as he approached the kitchen, only to quicken as the building tension pushed him. Jean was all he noticed upon entry. He was was slumped over his cup of coffee, mindlessly stirring it, and his expression of weak. He was slow to look up and Marco and returned quietly to his cup. 

"Jean," Marco hushed as he pulled himself into the seat next to him, ". . . how are you?" 

Jean's expression was beginning to crack and he was near crying, "I'm fine." 

"Ok." Marco was concerned but he knew that pushing Jean wasn't going to help him.

"I'm sorry."

"What?"

"I'm sorry for last night." 

"Sorry?"

"Yeah, I . . .," he slowly raised his head to look at Marco, "oh my God!"

"Wha-"

"Did I hit you?!," Jean screamed staring at the bruise forming on Marco's face.

"Jean, what are you-," he slowly brushed his hand against his face noting some sensitivity along his jaw.

"Oh my god. I hit you!" Jean was completely shattered with tears streaming down his face. 

"Look Jea-"

"I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry!" Jean's sorries were rushed, drowning in tears and he couldn't stop.

"Jean! Jean, please. You've gotta stop." Marco wrapped himself around Jean, just trying to get him to stop.

"I'm so sorry, Marco."

"You don't have to be."

"I'm so sorry."

"I know, Jean." Jean continued to cry but it was calmer now, and he wasn't shaking so furiously. "Jean, you weren't trying to hit me, and I know that. You know that too. I was trying to snap you out off your dream, and I'm the one who put myself in the way. I knowingly put myself in front of you." He chuckled for a second, "come on man, you know I've seen you in action. I know what you can do, and I know what I was risking putting myself out there like that." "Look. . . you can't feel bad about this. It wasn't your fault and it really isn't a big deal anyway."

But Jean couldn't get let it go. "Jean. . .," Marco tenderly hushed as he pulled Jean away from himself in order to make eye contact with him. 

Jean's eyes froze staring at the pale bruise under Marco's an harmed eye, barely washing out the freckled that usually showed there. It was faint but it was enough to make Jean absolutely sick with guilt. 

" . . . Jean it isn't that bad."

"But I'm sor-"

"I know you are, but it's okay."

Jeans eyes dropped down to his hands resting in his lap, and Marco didn't really know what to do now. Jean was slumping down to the floor and Marco still had a hand resting atop each of Jean's shoulders. It was hard to tell how Jean really was, he wasn't crying anymore but his heart seemed to be so heavy it was pulling him down to the floor. 

"You work today?" Jean didn't raise his head when he asked and his words were flat and without expression.

"Y-yeah, I do."

"When?"

"Uh, well I actually should be leaving now if I'm gonna make it there on time."

"Okay."

"Jean, do you want me to stay with you?"

"I couldn't ask you too."

"You aren't."

"I-I have to work anyway."

"When are you done tonight?"

"7:00"

"Well . . ."

"I'll be fine." Jean was still staring at the floor and clearly not fine, but Marco wasn't going to argue with him about it as there wasn't a point in it. 

"I don't want to make you late."

"Oh, um, I take off I guess. Are you sure you will be okay if I go?"

"Yeah." 

Marco pulled himself up from the stool and walked to the doorway. Holding onto the door frame he turned a look back over his shoulder, "Jean, I'll see you tonight."

Jean finally looked up at Marco, "yeah, I'll be here."

**Author's Note:**

> I aim to add a new chapter every two weeks on Thursdays. If you like what you read you can also see the art for it at www.attackonbullshit.tumblr.com.


End file.
